Torn Mask
by shattered petal
Summary: After the recovery of his sight, Roy Mustang has a surprising visitor. -Roy/Olivier


**Title**: Torn Mask  
**Genres**: Romance/Hurt/Comfort  
**Rating**: K+  
**Couple**: Roy/Olivier

* * *

It was just that once when she let her emotions slip. Frankly, Olivier Armstrong was not in a stable state at the time anyway. Only a couple of hours ago, she had discovered the death of a close friend and colleague, facing such a hideous fate herself. Broken ribs and bleeding flesh, it was impressive she even managed to remain on her own two feet.

The image of Roy on his knees, and claiming the loss of his sight took a moment to really sink in for the young General. Before her was a man she had known since the age of three. They had been friends for years, and the idea of either of them passing away, or being severely wounded was…_impossible_.

While the world would roll their eyes at their constant bickering, their fierce rivalry, their ignorance always managed to look past what was really there. Olivier disliked the majority of emotions. They were hinderances, too controlling of the mind. So she taught herself to not _feel_, to distance herself.

This was a harsh revelation for the boy she befriended all those years ago. Most days she believed he hated her for it, and maybe it was this hatred which mattered to her. Maybe it was this emotion he possessed which she feared, and she was too ashamed to admit it. Roy, after so long, still managed to make Olivier struggle with emotions. And he had no idea.

There were reasons why they rarely met, why they detested each other's presence. Ironically, these reasons were the very opposite of detest or loathing.

She didn't want to see Roy again, without him being able to see her.

It was in that single second when he confessed to his loss of sight did it feel as the world had crumbled around her. It was in that single second when she remembered what he was, who he was. It was in that single second when she remembered she was very, _very _human.

_The Wall shall fall too. Eventually_.

'Are you angry?'

She was supposed to visit him at the hospital for only a couple of minutes. Once she heard about Roy using a Philosopher's Stone to recover his eyesight, she had to see him. Olivier told herself that she was only checking on Roy to make sure he was fit for work. If he wasn't, then he would be placing his country in potential danger.

That was bullshit.

Why she _really_ came would always shame her.

Sometimes she cared too much.

'No.' A lie. Olivier was good at lying.

Roy sighed and lowered his gaze. Then a smile reached his lips. 'Well, I appreciate your concern, Major General. It's always nice to see a pretty face when I'm unwell.'

'You're _fine_, Mustang, and I'm not concerned.' Olivier met his gaze, and she couldn't help feel a flush of relief. There was colour in his irises: deep and calm, dark. Beautiful. Eyes she had known for a long time. 'You were lucky to get away so easily. Many men died in battle. There's no reason why I should congratulate you for your survival.'

_Many_ did die. Many who were precious to her. Many who were precious to him. Roy frowned and stood to his feet, feeling a little insulted. 'I'm very aware of my fortune, Olivier. I'm not an idiot. Heck, at least _some of us_ managed to survive, and I think instead of guilting ourselves, we should enjoy what we have.'

'Good. Tell that to the families of the deceased.'

'You're not one who sympathises with the dead.'

Roy was right. Never did Olivier morn, and never did she stop and think about the soldiers who had been killed. It wasn't part of her job. Allowing herself to _care_ only made things _difficult_. As a woman, everyone expected her to surrender to emotions easily.

A cruel judgement, and one she refused to live up to.

Roy knew this.

The hospital was filled with patients injured from The Promised Day, doctors and nurses hurrying down the hallways. Roy's ward was empty, aside from the two commanding officers. Olivier was never fond of hospitals. They reminded her of too many nightmares: deaths, the birth of her brother, the moment when her father no longer looked at her with hope.

Replaced. As soon as Alex was born, that was it for Olivier. She was just the daughter, just a girl, waiting to find a husband.

It was sad that even after so many years in the military, even after so many years of trying to have her father's approval, Olivier still hadn't given up. Everything she did, every time she put her life at stake, it was for him. Ever since the day she could think and realise, Olivier wanted to be _more_. Wanted daddy to notice.

'I don't think you give a damn about whether I survive or not,' Roy said. The smile was gone, the happiness was gone. There was no mockery in his tone; he wasn't in the mood to tease her. Teasing her didn't earn her affections. She didn't laugh, didn't tease back. _She wants nothing to do with me_.

'You're absolutely right, Mustang. Whether you live or die tomorrow is irrelevant.'

'You came all this way just to tell me that?' Roy then laughed, but it was sarcastic. It wasn't _him_, and she almost winced. 'I've been hoping for such a long time that you'd be my friend again. Call me an idiot, or a wuss, whatever you want. I do miss those days when we used to be friends. You were my first friend. Then you joined the military and everything was ruined.'

'I apologise for placing our people before our friendship.'

'That's not what I meant!' Roy retorted, a fire burning in his eyes. 'Something happened to you. I admit, you were always obsessed with impressing your old man. I don't blame you. However, it's come to the point where I don't even _recognise_ you anymore.'

'I'm not _obsessed_ with impressing my father. If you knew me, you'd know what you just said was false.'

Roy paused, pondered, then shook his head. The conversation had got out-of-hand. By now, Olivier should have taken her leave and then they would have met half a year later. With reluctance.

Or, _she_ would have been reluctant.

His face contorted with pain for a moment, and it slashed her cold heart. It was terrible how easily he could rip her inside. 'I might have died, or you might have. I know what happened between you and the homunculus, Sloth. If Alex hadn't arrived, you would be dead.'

'Oh, don't tell me you're _bothered_ about that.'

'_Yes_. I am. You can turn around and leave me be, we can leave on these harsh terms, but this might be the last time we ever speak. Each day, your life is under threat. I have it easier. I don't control a defence which is constantly under attack. You're clueless, Olivier. You're so ignorant. Arrogant too.'

'That is _your _problem to deal with.'

Roy said nothing. He held her gaze, then nodded. 'Yeah, you're right. It _is_ my problem to deal with. I'm a right bastard for caring about you. Believe it or not, I might be the only person on this planet who does. You can bully me, do whatever you want, but nothing can change the fact I care.'

'Please stop talking.'

Obeying her wishes, Roy sat back down on the bed. Discussing something like this with Olivier was like pulling teeth. How much he wanted to grab that friend out of her again, how much he wanted to slap some sense into her and realise _she didn't have to impress anyone_.

Roy could scowl and blame Philip Armstrong, her father, for this. There wasn't any point, though, and Olivier would loathe him even more for doing such a thing. Because, to her, everything had to be dealt with independently. Even after the amount of times she was helped during The Promised Day, Olivier still didn't believe dependance was a good trait to possess.

Sometimes it was the only trait anyone had in a time of need.

There will be a day when that shall happen, and he would be the only one there to offer a hand. Of course, she would shove his hand away. She would _always_ shove _him_ away.

Caring wasn't enough.

'You were the first person I wanted to see when I got my eyesight back.'

Olivier slapped him. A cold, rough slap. Freezing, cooling down the flames. Roy's fire was a blaze, though, and he quickly turned back to face her again, glaring. What he saw in her bright irises was confusion, frustration, pain, anger, so many emotions and he wanted to help, wanted to understand.

The poor girl was damaged. Roy had experienced the torture she had gone through, and he found himself wanting to spit at the feet of those who viewed her as this stoic, hard and impregnable witch.

She slapped him because he had touched her, made her feel something she didn't want to feel. But she had also slapped him because _he_ didn't have to feel this way. He _shouldn't _feel this way. How could he? After all these years, he still _liked_ her, still viewed her as a friend.

This amount of loyalty only came from a dog.

'You're an idiot. Of _course_ I care. I can't devote myself to _us_, though, Mustang. If I did, then how could I concentrate on everything else? As soon as everyone realises I happen to care about someone, they'll instantly see me as _a woman_ again, because only _a woman_ can feel emotions. Only _a woman_ can allow her emotions to control her.'

'You care?'

Olivier didn't answer. It was clear. How much she wanted to hold him when his sight had been lost, how much she wanted to be there for him, be that friend again, but she was trapped in a world of war.

'I don't want you to go back to the Fort so soon,' Roy said.

She did. She was desperate to return, to run away.

Roy was on his feet again, but this time, he was smiling, content. This smile was not mocking or sarcastic. It was a simple, loving smile. One for her, and only her.

'I wish you could stay.'

Their lips met in an instant, and the amount of pleasure both participants received was wild. Roy was warm, his lips soft and inviting, while she was forceful, harsh, uncertain almost. They kissed once, lasting at least half a minute, and the two weren't sure whether to pull away or remain like this.

It was the only thing keeping them in each other's presence.

The temperature decreased dramatically when Olivier pulled away. For a moment, Roy was worried she would slap him again or, worse, send a blade through his chest. Olivier might grin at the scenario, but never would she desire such a fate for him. Ever.

Roy tried to smile again.

'Can't you stay?'

No. She could not. The man had only piled more reasons as to why she must stay away from him as much as possible.

That didn't mean she _wanted_ to leave. Because in those few seconds, Olivier would give anything to forget Hell and the world, and let her emotions take control. To let his arms wrap around her waist and let him hold her tightly, so tightly she wouldn't be able to breathe.

Olivier wanted to be human.

With him. And only him.

Just him.

'Good bye, Roy.' It was as if nothing had occurred between them. Her tone was blunt, sharp. Kept him in place.

But she never called him "Roy". That name was too intimate.

Olivier swiftly left, without turning back. Roy remained standing, wondering, wondering if there was a chance she might return, apologise, cry, say how stupid she was, and that, yes, they should be together.

They should _always_ be together.

It was a dream he could never breathe in.


End file.
